


i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

by izzygone



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Drunk Sex, Hickeys, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Marking, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex, i guess i just really like the idea of gansey having a monster cock?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 18:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12114507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzygone/pseuds/izzygone
Summary: So Ronan comes home with a hickey and Gansey gets jealous.





	i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

**Author's Note:**

> Anon came onto my tumblr and was like "would you ever write gansey being jealous over rovinsky” and I was like “yeah” but instead of just rovinsky, I made it the whole dream pack bc the idea of them all fucking Ronan really does it for me ;)
> 
> Not beta'd (but I am looking for one! message me on tumblr if you're interested....)

 

By the time Ronan makes it home, he’s exhausted and full of such shameful need, he wants to either fucking _wreck_ something or fall over and sleep for a thousand years. And he’s praying Gansey, for once, isn’t still awake, isn’t waiting up with that disappointed look on his face like he’d do anything to just _fix_  Ronan, even though neither of them really knows exactly what is wrong with him. 

He tries to be quiet, creeping up the stairs. It’s got to be like 3am, Gansey must be asleep by now, right? But he already knows he’s lying to himself. He can hear Gansey pacing and almost retreats to just sleep it off in the car. It’s so much worse when Gansey is up and moving, too stressed out and angry to even sit and work on his miniature Henrietta. 

It’s too late to turn back, though, so Ronan decides to just plow through. He thinks, a little deliriously, _if I’m just fast enough_ , like if he can just reach his room, he’ll find protection, like Gansey is a predator to escape.

Honestly, though, sometimes it fucking feels like it.

Ronan shouldn’t be surprised to find Gansey whipping the door open even as he reaches for the doorknob himself, but still it’s enough to make him almost fall backwards. Gansey grabs him, though, hands making fists around the straps of Ronan’s half-vodka-soaked black tank top, preventing him from going anywhere. 

He’s still on the last step of the stairwell, and Gansey is at the top, looming over him and when Ronan tilts his head back to meet his eyes, he knows what’s happening. This isn’t disappointed, insomniac Gansey. This is Gansey-on-fire.

And god, he wishes the flames he sees in Gansey’s eyes didn’t make his overused cock twitch against the rough interior of his jeans. He swears he wore boxers out, but somehow they didn’t return with him. Sometimes, things went missing when Joseph Kavinsky was around. Things like Ronan’s ability to give a fuck.

Gansey is practically spitting fire when he says, “Where in holy fuck have you been, Ronan?”

Ronan doesn’t really want to answer, so he just shrugs. Normally, he’d be all about seeing what unpredictable behavior this particular version of Gansey was bound to display, but tonight he’s _tired_  and fucked out and sore and unless Gansey plans to eat him out and soothe his tired ass, he’s got very little interest in this conversation.

“Is that -" Gansey makes a choking noise, and Ronan can actually pinpoint the moment that Gansey changes from _on-fire_  to completely enraged as Gansey hauls him up so they’re at eye level, and Ronan’s toes are just touching the step below him - ignoring another twitch of his dick, fucking _fuck_  Gansey is so damn strong - “Is that a goddamn _hickey_?” He spits out the word and hauls Ronan even further, up onto the main floor of Monmouth by his shirtsleeves.

Ronan’s vision spins a little as Gansey releases his hold for under a second only to slam the door behind them. It’s so ferocious, it causes the delicate structure of the factory to shudder and Ronan notes distantly the sound of some furniture or perhaps a painting falling. Gansey’s back on him before he can really pinpoint the sound, “Did _Kavinsky_  do this to you?” He tugs Ronan close again, inspecting the bruising mark Ronan has no doubt is blossoming at the juncture of his collarbone and throat.

He thinks it could have just as easily been Proko, or Jiang, or Swan or even Skov, all of whom had fucked in or on or around him at some point during the night, but instead of saying so, he just bites out, “Maybe,” and the glare Gansey gives him is almost enough to cause him to catch fire, “What are you going to do about it?” He knows he shouldn’t be issuing challenges right now. Gansey is absolutely in the right here, Ronan knows he’s a fuck up, constantly begging to be torn apart. He also _knows_ , the knowledge waking up some strange, desperate part of him, that Gansey is, if not _drunk_ , then very near to it, because all he can smell is whiskey, and he can almost taste it on Gansey’s breath because they’re so. damn. close.

Seeing as he’s the one who issued the challenge, Ronan should probably be a little less surprised when Gansey shoves him back, all that strength easily causing him to stumble and nearly fall, only prevented from doing so by Gansey pressing him further and further until his back hits the wall that separates their living space from the kitchen/bathroom/laundry room. It knocks the breath right out of him, and Gansey uses his momentary daze to his advantage and suddenly Ronan is pinned, Gansey holding his wrists flat against the wall above his head with just one hand and this time it’s a bigger problem when Ronan’s cock twitches, interested and full of betrayal. He knows Gansey can feel it because his thigh is pressed between Ronan’s legs, but he doesn’t do anything about it other than grind his thigh harder against him, making Ronan tip his head away to cry out involuntarily. Gansey’s other hand quickly finds his chin, though, and turns him back so they’re staring into each other’s eyes again. Gansey’s eyes are near-black, like he’s absolutely possessed, and Ronan really has no way of proving that he’s not. “Don’t. Fucking. Test. Me. Ronan.” He says each word slowly, grinding against Ronan so it’s impossible not to feel exactly how hard they both are.

Ronan has to grin a little as he cocks his head slightly to the side, noting his hands pinned above him, the feel of Gansey’s thigh rubbing almost painfully against his erection. Testing Gansey is pretty much his fucking job description.

“I’ve still got his come inside me,” Ronan says, grinding forward as much as he’s able with Gansey’s body pressing him down, “Wanna see?”

He’s not surprised that’s the last straw, and suddenly Gansey’s hand moves from his chin and down, finding his throat and pressing. Ronan chokes in what little breath he can, not at all shocked as his dick jerks against Gansey’s thigh at this development, although the narrowing of Gansey’s eyes as he glances down then back to Ronan’s face shows it this isn’t exactly the reaction he was expecting. 

Gansey breathes heavily, and Ronan not at all for a long, hot second before Gansey shakes his head and seems to pull himself back together, enough to unclench his fingers from the spot around Ronan’s throat. Ronan sucks in a deep breath and realizes he should probably want those fingers back on him a little less. He doesn’t have time to mourn the loss, though, because, quick as lightning, Gansey’s moved on, reaching down to the button of Ronan’s jeans and growling when he finds Ronan hasn’t even bothered to fasten it, so all he has to do is push and the zipper comes undone and the jeans slide down, leaving him totally exposed.

Ronan flushes hot, a mild embarrassment creeping in to compliment the heat from his arousal and then almost cries out again as Gansey bites at his collarbone and removes all the pressure of his thighs against him. He bucks forward, animal instincts taking over momentarily and all he wants is to be touched - but Gansey takes a half step back. His eyes flick over Ronan’s whole body, and Ronan would have thought he was too drunk and lust-filled to be anything but hungry, but Gansey is taking him in, every detail he can get in the pale, half-light still coming from the lamp by his desk, and Ronan knows he’s taking a million mental notes, cataloging every inch. It makes Ronan whine a little bit. How is it that he’s falling apart, _again_ , so many times in one night, and Gansey, half out of his mind with rage and drink still manages to put himself back together. 

Ronan bucks again, seeking friction, but Gansey just turns his eyes back to his face and shakes his head _no_. “Turn around.” He says, and the order is so absolute, so unquestionable, Ronan has to whine again. He hates taking orders. He does. Except, well, sometimes he thinks it’s exactly what he needs. But he doesn’t really get to make that decision because with a flick of his wrist, Gansey spins Ronan around, using his hand and his vice-like grip on Ronan’s wrists to flip him so his face is pressed hard into the wall.

“Don’t. Move.” Gansey breathes against Ronan’s ear and waits, like he’s expecting Ronan to fight him and he’s so _ready_  for it, can’t even wait to put Ronan back in his place. Ronan senses it, senses Gansey’s desire, so just for show he tries anyway, even though he can’t think of a place he’d rather be right now. He bucks back again, tries to slip his wrists from under the constraints and isn’t at all disappointed by how Gansey slams him back against the wall. “Stay put.” Gansey’s elbow digs into his back, and Ronan lets out a pained gasp as he nods. He’s so fucking hard and it hasn’t even been an hour since he got off, but that doesn’t hold a candle to what he’s experiencing right now.

Gansey holds him still for a moment longer, watching, waiting, but Ronan doesn’t move again. Gansey pats his hip gently and whispers so Ronan’s not even sure he’s meant to hear it, _good boy_.

Normally, that sort of condescending bullshit would make Ronan want to act like a very _naughty_  boy in fact, but this time he flushes. He knows Gansey doesn’t mean it, really, but it’s still hot to hear. 

It’s impossible not to moan as Gansey keeps him pinned there, one hand pressing his wrists so hard into the wall, he’s a little afraid they might disappear into it, and the other roaming his body. Ronan knows it’s just Gansey inspecting him, noting each bruise, scratch, mark; every piece of evidence of Kavinsky and his pack of wild dogs on Ronan’s body, but the touches still make flames of arousal flood Ronan’s veins. Just now, he feels like a delicate antique in Gansey’s hands, not a messy, come-soiled mass of skin and bones and want.

Gansey’s fingers find a particularly nasty bruise at the cusp of where his hip meets his thigh, one Kavinsky actually left last week but never allowed to heal, and _presses_ , the sore-hotness of it making Ronan arch his back and let out a very undignified wail. “You let him do this to you,” Gansey’s voice is harsh and Ronan doesn’t really know how to categorize it. Lust-filled? Angry? Desperate? He can feel Gansey’s scrutiny on the back of his neck, so he nods. He hasn’t yet found a reason to lie, “And you like it.”

Ronan swallows, “ _Yeah_ ,” his reply is a little breathless and he tries to pretend that’s not because of the way that the pressure on the bruise and the knowledge that Gansey is the one touching it almost makes him come.

That reply doesn’t seem to settle well with Gansey, apparently, because he digs his fingers in harder, rougher, and Ronan keens, “ _Please_ ,” the word is choked out of him, and he has no idea exactly what he’s asking for. For the pressure to stop? For Gansey to hurt him _just a little bit more?_

“Quiet.” Gansey replies tersely, like a teacher disciplining a class, and Ronan’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. Then Gansey’s hand moves, releasing the pressure off the bruise and making Ronan shudder. He’s not sure which felt better - the initial pain or the pleasure of having it come to an end. Gansey’s hand finds the outline of his hipbone and stills him, “Don’t move.” He leaves very little room for argument, but it’s all Ronan can do to stop himself from fighting back anyway. 

Gansey’s hand trails to the waistline of Ronan’s shirt and doesn’t hesitate as he peels it up. It gets caught on Ronan’s arms, but Gansey doesn’t ask him to move so he can remove it, just pushes it up, over Ronan’s head until it’s all the way up at his wrists. He’s pretty sure some of Gansey’s sailing experience comes out then because between one breath and the next, he’s managed to tie it into a knot, binding Ronan’s wrists together.

“Don’t move,” He repeats, a little unnecessarily, adding extra pressure to where he’s holding Ronan’s hand against the wall as if making a point before letting go. It’s not a hardship to comply and Ronan stays deadly still.

Gansey makes an approving noise, but Ronan doesn’t earn another half-cursed out piece of praise. Instead, he obediently lifts one leg and then the other as Gansey strips him of his jeans the rest of the way as well. Now, basically naked, he’s entirely exposed to Gansey’s empirical stare. There’s another long minute as Gansey continues to inspect him, now with both hands running unpredictably along his sides, over his shoulders, back over his hips and thighs, finding every bite mark and bruise and pressing on them in turn until he’s learned every possible gasp and sound Ronan is capable of. 

Eventually, there’s very little left to examine except the cleft of Ronan’s ass, and when Gansey’s fingertips find that spot, Ronan’s moan has absolutely nothing to do with any kind of bruise. He can feel Gansey’s breath on his shoulder, a little ragged, as he slides a finger in, growling to find Ronan predictably slick, full of come and lube. He removes the finger and inspects it, then holds it in front of Ronan’s mouth, “This is Kavinsky’s?” he asks, and Ronan shrugs.

“Could be his. Could be Proko’s. It’s probably Jiang’s, though.”

Gansey’s eyes are wide with anger again, and for a second Ronan thinks maybe Gansey’s going to actually slap him. Instead, he presses the finger to Ronan’s mouth and forces it inside. Ronan resists only briefly, then sucks the digit in and cleans it thoroughly with his tongue, Gansey’s eyes on him making him want to draw it out.

Gansey pulls his finger back without warning, and Ronan kind of wants to bite him for that, but it’s too late. He inspects the finger again, then gets real close to Ronan’s face again, “I’m going to clean this all out of you,” Ronan has to bite his lip to suppress a moan - he _can’t_  mean — “Then I’m going to fill you up again, and you can tell me who fucks you better.” It makes Ronan pretty angry that Gansey can say all that with a straight face and an even tone, but he’s well aware there’s fuck all he plans to do about it.

He blinks and suddenly Gansey’s behind him again, kicking Ronan’s legs wider and sliding to his knees.

It’s a motion Ronan’s replayed a thousand times in dreams. Something he’d been thinking about even as he reluctantly climbed the stairs to find Gansey half ready to kill him tonight. Even in the best of his dreams, though, it wasn’t even a tenth of how amazing it is in reality. 

Gansey always did have a beautiful and talented mouth, but when he puts it on Ronan, it’s clear this is the best use for it. He doesn’t waste time, just uses both hands to hold Ronan open and dips his tongue in so Ronan has to squeeze his eyes shut and his hands into fists to stop himself from thrusting back onto Gansey’s face.

 

Gansey holds him still without much effort, though, so Ronan doesn’t focus too much on trying to keep himself still any longer. Instead, his head swims with the feeling of his best friend’s tongue inside him, prodding deliberately, forcing its way inside him, deeper and deeper. It’s all Ronan can do not to come apart as it really dawns on him, _Gansey’s trying to get every drop out of him_.

Ronan hadn’t really considered “angry rimming” to even be possible, let alone something he’d ever get to experience, but that’s clearly what’s happening to him now. Gansey’s grip is a little too rough on him, the jabs of his tongue hot and too furious. It probably shouldn’t even feel good, and Ronan knows Gansey doesn’t mean for it too, but Ronan’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood because _fuck_ , it’s the best thing that’s happened to him all night, and up until getting to Monmouth, he’d already had a pretty fucking fantastic night. 

It’s difficult to keep standing and nearly impossible to stop himself from begging Gansey to put something more substantial inside him. He’s quaking with need and _fuck_ , how does Gansey even know how to do this? How in the world did he get so fucking good at taking Ronan apart, like he’d come into Ronan’s dreams, watched and observed and took notes on every detail, calculating the perfect formula to break Ronan down.

Ronan’s whining Gansey’s name now, pretty sure he’s been doing it for awhile, and all he can hear in response is a wet, filthy slurping sound as Gansey takes everything out of him. Ronan has to wonder if he’ll ever be satisfied when Gansey suddenly pulls away causing Ronan to whimper from the shock of cold. He strains to turn his head and is rewarded with the gloriously hot sight of a lust-drunk Gansey, hair mussed, and lips shiny with saliva and come, eyes half-lidded. He swallows a few times, and Ronan can’t tear his eyes from the movement of his Adam’s apple. He thinks, wildly, for a second that maybe he’s broken Gansey because he’s never seen him look so _lost_ , but Gansey just licks his lips and turns his attention back, meeting Ronan’s eyes. For all his attempts to look sharp and ready to challenge, Ronan is pretty sure he looks just as fucked out and desperate as he feels because Gansey smirks a little.

“Now,” he says, pressing one hand to Ronan’s back and the other finding his hip to pull him backward so he’s bent half over, ass presented for use, “Pay attention.” 

Ronan wants to snap something back, this isn’t class, and he’s not going to take goddamn _notes_  for comparison - except then he feels Gansey’s bare cock rubbing into the cleft of his exposed ass. Gansey must have undone his pants at some point, but Ronan really couldn’t pinpoint when and it doesn’t really matter because _fuck,_  Gansey is pressing inside of him and _oh god_ , Gansey is fucking _huge_ , Ronan can feel the stretch down to his toes. He’d thought by now he’d be fucked loose enough to take a fist without effort, and it wasn’t like Proko didn’t have a cock worthy of a beautiful porn career, but all of that was nothing now. It burns a little, especially with how sore his ass was to begin with, but he takes what Gansey is giving him, balling his hands into fists and struggling just vaguely against his knotted shirt. 

And Gansey is relentless, pressing and pressing until he’s sheathed, breathing hard against Ronan’s tattooed shoulder and then biting down, hard enough that Ronan has to shout. Gansey holds him still and just stays there, and Ronan’s pretty sure he can feel his heartbeat through where they’re connected. He should probably give himself more time to adjust, but instead he’s irritable - if Gansey’s all talk and no action then what was the damn _point_  - but Gansey’s moving again, and _oh fuck_ , Ronan’s pretty sure he’s going to blackout from the glorious heat of it. Gansey is so big, and he’s clearly bringing his A game, moving fast and hard and gripping Ronan’s hip right over the bruise he’d been inspecting earlier. Each thrust fills Ronan so he thinks he’s forgotten his own name because all he can say or think is _Gansey, Gansey, Gansey_. It’s rough and Ronan can’t even breathe, vision going blurry as he tries to keep from coming. Gansey’s too big to miss his prostate, no matter the angle, and that knowledge makes his mind go a little blank. He can hear Gansey, hear his breath, hear the noises he’s making and the little _yeahs_  and _oh fucks_  spilling out of his mouth as he places it over different areas all over Ronan’s neck and shoulders, sucking and biting and _oh god_ , _marking_  him. How in the fucking fuck is Ronan going to hide all that tomorrow and - _oh_ , of course he’s not supposed to. Gansey is branding him, wants to show off his property, and that makes Ronan moan throatily. It’s not going to take much, not with Gansey’s monster dick inside him, thrusting madly, not with Gansey’s mouth hot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, not with the knowledge that Gansey’s doing all this to him, all by himself, unlike Kavinsky who needed a whole pack of dogs to get Ronan anywhere near this level of desperation.  

Gansey doesn’t reach around, doesn’t even lay a hand on Ronan’s dick, just holds tighter to Ronan’s hips and bites at his ear, breathing, “Come for me."

Ronan can’t even believe it, but he does, his body a quaking wreck as he lets the pressure take over, let’s himself go, shooting come so it splashes hotly on the floor and even so far as to leave a smear across the wall. He thinks he might collapse, but Gansey holds him fast, whispering his name against his ear, thrusting in hard, just one last time until suddenly, _oh fuck_ , he’s coming and Ronan feels every pulse, every twitch, every jerk of Gansey’s cock and it feels _amazing_ , and he doesn’t even care how oversensitive he is, he wants to do it all over again.

Gansey holds him there for a little while longer, and they’re both breathing hard, and Ronan’s not really sure what’s going to happen next.  

Finally, Gansey releases his hold and pulls out, both of them wincing from oversensitivity. He pulls Ronan to him, away from the wall instead of into it for the first time this night, and carefully undoes the knot he’d used to bind Ronan’s hands. He inspects Ronan’s wrists, running fingers over the marks left behind, pressing delicate kisses there, completely incongruous to his earlier behavior so it confuses Ronan’s dick a little bit and it stirs, once again full of betrayal. But Ronan’s far too tired and blissed out to do anything but whine. It’s a bit of a blur between that moment and the next and somehow Gansey has maneuvered them backward and onto the bed at the center of the living room. Ronan curls into him, and the last thing he feels as he falls asleep are Gansey's hands over him, soothing his inflamed skin. 

 

***

 

Ronan wakes sore and blissfully happy. Somehow, Gansey is in _his_  arms, like he was the one too fucked out to move last night, “ _You_.” He whispers it, just a breath against Gansey’s ear, and he’s surprised when Gansey squirms in his arms, turning around to look back at Ronan.

“Hmmm?” He asks, eyes still half-lidded, and Ronan’s cock pulses, reminded of how he’d looked on his knees last night.

“You,” Ronan repeats it, “You fuck better.”

Gansey smiles back, still sleepy, but pressing his thigh against Ronan’s erection under the covers, “Thought so."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at the-real-izzygone on tumblr.


End file.
